


What Happens Next?

by Radar1388



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Romance, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-07-10 12:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19905961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radar1388/pseuds/Radar1388
Summary: Post Not-End of the World. What will Crowley and Aziraphale do now without their bosses breathing down their necks? How will this newfound freedom affect their lives? Established relationship, but they take their time.Mostly a collection of one-shots that are connected, but most can be read as standalones.  I do something called 'One-Word One-Shots'. Meaning, if you give me a word, I'll make a one-shot around that word. Most of these stories will be more 'show' oriented, but will have elements from the book.





	1. Just Them

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Good Omens does not belong to me. I’m just here to write some fanfiction about it. Enjoy!

There was no word from them.

Not from Heaven.

Not from Hell.

Crowley was more than pleased about this. Having not been social – willingly, that is – with his fellow demons in the first place, this suited him. And not being one for confrontation, he certainly didn’t want to ponder it. Not that he was ignoring what might be inevitable, just that he didn’t feel the need to worry about something that wasn’t happening. He tried to not tag the word ‘yet’ to the end of that sentence.

Aziraphale was on edge. He tried distracting himself with his usual methods; reading a book, rereading said book, trying new flavors of tea. He even got into the habit of helping Crowley with his plants. By which he meant soothing the plants, whenever the demon wasn’t looking, of course. However, no matter what he did, his mind wouldn’t stop nagging at him.

This was not lost on Crowley.

He and the angel had different personas they exuded. While Crowley maintained the picture of cool and collected, Aziraphale leaned towards prim and professional. They had a tendency to cling to these traits. As a result, it made it very easy to tell when something was amiss with either of them.

As an example, while they were having lunch in the park, Aziraphale was so lost in his own head that the chocolate brioche Crowley had gotten him for dessert sat uneaten on its paper napkin, the other lunch items had only been picked at. Crowley scowled in concern. Normally, he was the one that grazed food, as he was always more than happy to give Aziraphale the majority. 

This was starting to get ridiculous.

Crowley was hopelessly indulgent of his angel. Visit the new café that opened up across town? _Yes._ See a showing of a book-to-film adaption? _Sure._ Find a new place to stay when the bookshop had burned down? _Nonsense! There’s plenty of room in my flat._

Depending on the person, ‘indulgent’ could also mean ‘doting’, though the demon believed them to be separate definitions. Crowley was only willing to admit it to himself, but that’s what he had been doing the past few weeks since their trials. Doting. Ever so slowly, Aziraphale began to act more and more anxious. Crowley knew why, and did his best to bring about the old routine they’d had before the days leading up to the End. Provide some repetition that the angel might derive comfort from. It should be noted that neither ever pointed out just how different the Arrangement had become throughout the years.

Eat some food. A walk or two through the park. Watch the ducks. Go see a play. Even help him maintain the bookshop.

Doing anything his angel wanted to do or would normally do. All the while, Crowley encouraged conversation, banter, and wine, anything to get Aziraphale’s mind off something that had the potential to happen, but wasn’t as of yet. Crowley grimaced at that final word.

Clearing his throat a little, he nodded at the brioche. “Save for later,” he asked.

Aziraphale blinked out of his daze, and looked down at the brioche, as if Crowley hadn’t offered it to him in the first place. “Um, no thank you,” he muttered. “You can have it.” With that, he turned his attention forward again, staring at nothing but his own thoughts. His hands, which had been resting serenely in his lap minutes ago, had begun to wring themselves. Crowley shook his head at this. 

Finally, the demon reached over to gently disentangle the fidgeting fingers. “Nothing’s going to happen,” he said slowly. Aziraphale wasn’t looking at him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t listening. “We scared all those bastards. They wouldn’t dare touch us.”

Aziraphale huffed, and looked at Crowley. “You can’t be certain of that.” The demon didn’t respond to this, so he continued. “We both know how stubborn each side is. We’ve given them such a fright, who’s to say that we haven’t piqued their interest. I mean, a demon surviving holy water, an angel surviving hellfire…”

Crowley shrugged. “Maybe they are interested, maybe they’re not. Either or, it’s doubtful that they’ll try and hurt us, after our little displays.”

“Perhaps,” he said with a frown.

“And if they do,” Crowley continued. “We’re more than a match for them.”

Aziraphale’s jaw flexed a little. “Except, it’s not an attack I’m worried about.”

“What, then?”

“Well, I believe, at least I think, you’d be all right, for the most part. But me…”

Crowley waved his hand dismissively, confidently. “They wouldn’t have you Fall. They think you survived hellfire, that you’re something more powerful than them. They wouldn’t let Hell have you, possibly to use against them.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “That’s not exactly what I meant, either.” The angel made a hand gesture and the rubbish left over from lunch disappeared out of existence, save for the brioche. He gave Crowley a knowing look. Though he was wearing his sunglasses, Aziraphale could tell by the way the demon’s brows rose that his eyes had widened in understanding.

Demons were sort of free-spirited. They were given orders to wreak havoc on the world, and it was up to them how they wanted to do it. So long as a demon created some form of mischief here and there, violent or non, then none of the other residents of Hell would bat an eye. They were given such free reign because Heaven had no jurisdiction over Hell. Hell had bosses and higher-ups, sure, but what it did not have was control. A demon’s gift of free will made it so that no one had command over them.

Unlike Heaven, that believed in strict and rigid control. Angels were not as free-spirited, because they rarely got permission. The authorities of Heaven not only took control of where an angel could go and what they could do, but, to some degree, control the angels themselves. Over the centuries, Aziraphale lost count of how many reprimands he’d gotten for frivolously using miracles. He would either receive a strongly worded memo, or a personal visit from one of the archangels. That was as far as it had ever gotten, but Aziraphale knew things could get worse. And now that he’d completely pissed Heaven off…

Crowley frowned deeply at the angel’s shudder. Squeezing Aziraphale’s hand, which he had yet to let go of, he said, “You’re right. We’ve stirred 'em up quite a bit, eh? We can’t guarantee what they’ll do next. But I don’t care, and I’m not worried. Wanna know why?” Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow at him. “’Cause we’re on our side now. Whatever happens next, we’ll withstand it together.” The demon snorted humorously. “I mean, they tried to bring about the end of the world, they tried to start a war.” He gazed at the angel. “They tried to kill us. Permanently separate us. And look where it got them.”

Warmth spread through him when the angel squeezed his hand in kind. They hadn’t taken notice, but they had shifted their positions on the bench to face each other more closely, knees brushing. “You’re right,” Aziraphale nodded. “I’ve been absolutely silly these last few weeks, haven’t I?” Crowley shrugged as his thumb idly stroked the inside of Aziraphale's wrist. “Right," the angel said after a while, and then took a bite out of the brioche. “Our side, then.”

“Don’t know about you, angel," Crowley smiled as he took a piece that was offered to him. "But that’s all that matters to me.”


	2. The Living Arrangement

Aziraphale hardly spent twenty-four hours as Crowley’s roommate before he realized that Adam had restored the bookshop. He was extremely grateful, going out of his way to send the child a ‘thank you’ letter and even an old adventure novel with yellowing pages that he thought he might like.

After their trials, he spent the entire day meticulously going over the new books Adam gave him, and taking overall inventory just to make sure nothing was missing. And there wasn’t, not a single bookmark out of place. Once he was done in the bookshop for the day, he gathered a few books and set off for their – er, Crowley’s flat.

He didn’t need to as he owned a flat above the bookshop, and it seemed redundant given that he was just going to come back in the morning. But Crowley had ordered takeaway, his flat and his plants were lovely, and, well…Crowley was there. For some reason, it made perfect sense to the angel that that was where he needed to be.

Crowley normally would’ve just taken the food to the bookshop, but Aziraphale insisted they eat at his home. Crowley didn’t own his flat per se, but the landlord – as if by magic – never bothered him or asked him for rent. How convenient.

And that’s what it was, a convenient little hideaway from the rest of the world. Just like Aziraphale’s flat, it had the basics of a single bedroom, a kitchenette, and a loo. Added to that was the greenhouse portion, and the main area that had the table and “throne”. It was livable, but very simplistic and not meant to be cozy. Thank someone that they discussed having dinner at Crowley’s place instead of the shop over the phone, because the demon was unable to hide his blush, feeling unexpectedly flattered.

Crowley set the Chinese takeaway bag on the table. With a click of his fingers, a second chair appeared, equally as grand and comfy as the one that was already there. And he waited for his angel to arrive.

He sat down and scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. Should he play some music? Set out some plates? Miracle a couch for better relaxation? Maybe put out candles for better lighting? He peered up at the ceiling and willed the lights to change intensity. Hmm, too dim…too bright…too dark… “Urgh,” he growled irately, waving his hand to change it back to what it was before.

He was being pedantic. After all, Aziraphale had spent the previous night with him and seemed to have no complaints, was even coming back for a date. Crowley straightened a little and grinned. Date. He liked the sound of that. Personally, he would’ve preferred to have dinner at a restaurant or, better yet, at the bookshop. Either or, anywhere Aziraphale wanted to be was quite all right with him, so long as he could go, too.

Crowley looked outside to see sunset had passed and was now night. He leaned fully against the backrest, expression thoughtful. It was getting late, but Crowley understood how much the angel adored his bookshop. Perhaps he should make the date more proper by picking him up in his Bentley.

Before he could contemplate it further, he heard a polite knock. Without a second thought, Crowley gracefully got to his feet and strode across the flat to open the door.

“I’m so sorry, dear,” Aziraphale said with a small smile. “I lost track of time.”

Crowley quirked an eyebrow amusedly. “Adam’s new books?”

The angel nodded. “Yes. They’re a bit…modern for my tastes, but I’m sure I can fit them in somewhere.” By this point, Crowley had stepped aside to allow him in, but he was still standing out in the hallway. Aziraphale shifted from one foot to the other. “May I come in?”

Crowley rolled his eyes from behind his glasses and made a large beckoning motion with his arm. Aziraphale thanked him and stepped inside, setting his books on a small table in the corner.

“How’s the shop look,” Crowley asked as he followed casually behind the angel.

“Perfect,” Aziraphale responded with a wide smile. “I don’t know how he knew, but Adam made sure everything was where it should be. That smells lovely by the way,” he said, pointing in the direction of the main area. “May I-”

The huff that escaped Crowley was meant to be of exasperation, but it came out very softly. “You can do whatever you like, angel,” he said, taking off his glasses and putting them in a pocket.

Crowley raised an eyebrow, and Aziraphale realized he’d been staring deeply at his golden eyes. The angel shook his head to clear his thoughts. “That’s, um – Right. Thank you! I’m absolutely starving.”

They both sat down to eat. Crowley’s uncertainty about the ambience melted away when he noticed the look of satisfaction on Aziraphale’s face as he ate. Once he saw this, the demon finally dug into his own meal. They were silent for a while, simply taking each other in, before Crowley spoke.

“What was that, dear,” Aziraphale asked, only briefly looking up from his food.

“I meant what I said,” Crowley repeated. “You can do whatever you like when you’re here.”

“Yes, well,” he said, setting his food down to give the demon more of his attention. “I just don’t want to intrude on anything.”

Crowley smirked a little. “Did you miss the part where I asked you to move in with me?” The smile slipped ever so slightly. “Of course, you won’t need to now that you have the bookshop again. But still...”

“I was actually wondering if I might talk to you about that,” Aziraphale said, folding his hands in front of him on the table. He pursed his lips before continuing. “Does the…offer still stand?”

Crowley’s eyebrows came together. “What? To move in with me? What about the shop?”

“I figure that’s what I’ll do during the day. And when I’m not doing anything there, I could come back…here?”

Crowley’s brows were still scrunched in confusion. “No offense, angel, but there’s not much to do here.”

Aziraphale looked away from Crowley and fidgeted in his seat a little. “Well, I could always just, well, bring some books with me, like I did today. Hmm, perhaps you could teach me how to help take care of your plants. And, well, um…” When he realized he was rambling, he shook his head. “Never mind. Nothing has to be done. Pretend I-”

Crowley shook his head quickly. “You moving in was never a question,” he said, tilting his head to maintain the angel’s gaze. “I just want to know why. I thought you had a little flat above the shop.”

“I do,” he nodded. “It just always feels so empty.”

Crowley laughed and spread his arms out, looking around at the wide spaces in his flat. “And this place doesn’t?”

Aziraphale moaned and buried his face in his hands. “I’m not making any sense at all,” he muttered tiredly.

With the lightest of touches, the angel felt two fingers underneath his chin, making his head tilt up until he was once again faced with the most brilliant shade of gold. “Not really, no,” the demon murmured. “Try it again.”

Without hesitation, Aziraphale responded. “You’re not there.”

Crowley was about to ask what he meant before realization dawned on him. He let his hand drop, and he chuckled. “I think I spend more time at your bookshop than I do here.”

“It’s more than that,” he tried to explain once he was no longer distracted by the other’s touch. “I can feel your…presence here. The energy in the air, if you will. Your confidence, your sense of freedom, I can feel that here.” He sighed quietly. “It’s…more comforting than I would’ve expected.” Then, he scrunched his nose. “Expect for where you keep the plants. Something’s absolutely terrified them, though I can’t identify what.”

Crowley would’ve given some off-handed sarcasm about the laziness of his plants, but he said something else entirely. “It smells like you,” he blurted.

“What does,” Aziraphale asked slowly, confused by the sudden declaration. “The plants?”

Crowley grimaced and shook his head. “No, the...bookshop." He paused. "Cologne, leatherbounds, and old parchment.”

Aziraphale's eyes widened slightly. “That’s what I smell like to you? And you like that?” He shook his head incredulously. “My dear, do you know how many clients say they hate how musty it is in there?”

Crowley calmly pushed some of the takeaway boxes aside, and deftly slid his hand underneath one of Aziraphale’s. Slowly, as if waiting for him to jerk away, he brought the back of the angel’s hand up to his face and inhaled deeply. “It’s the most familiar scent in the world to me,” he murmured against his skin. “I could never hate it.” Crowley nuzzled for only a moment longer, before letting their hands back on the table, keeping their fingers linked.

Aziraphale nodded. “Just as I could never hate being here.” _Or anywhere with you for that matter_.

Crowley smiled at him. “Of course you can move in, angel,” he said after a moment. His smile turned devilish. “Just don’t be surprised if I loiter in your bookshop whenever you go there.”

Aziraphale smirked. “My dear, you do that already.”


	3. Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Requested by: Anonymous._
> 
> _**Warning** : Characters talking about touch issues, but everything is consensual._

Aziraphale turned a few pages and tutted. Given how horribly stained and tattered it was, he thought he had purchased a counterfeit as it almost took effort to get a book into that bad a condition. But after realizing it was, in fact, authentic, he let out a heavy sigh.

Crowley was sitting beside him, sipping from a wine glass, humming along to the gramophone, and one arm draped over the back of the sofa. Not quite but almost touching Aziraphale. Upon hearing the angel’s exasperation, he sniggered under his breath. “Oh, come on,” he smirked. “Can’t be that bad.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “You can see very well that it is and you don’t even read that often,” he huffed, leafing through more pages. After a few minutes, he closed the book, set it on his lap, and held his hands up as if burned by it. “And now there’s mold. Hmm…” He looked around the room, searching.

Crowley raised an amused eyebrow, and set his wine down. “They’re on the worktable, as per usual,” he drawled, as if bored. He stood up, and walked to the table asking, “The latex or the cotton gloves?”

“Latex. The cotton ones are just for show.”

Crowley nodded. “Do you want that alkaline spray while I’m at it?”

“No thank you, my dear. That’ll be for later.” The demon nodded again. With the box of gloves in hand, he waltzed back over, this time to stand behind the sofa and peer over the angel’s shoulder. “I still have to do further assessments,” Aziraphale continued with a hard grimace. “I just keep finding one thing after another, so I’ll probably have to flip through every blo- single page. I mean, really, how difficult is to properly care for a book?”

Crowley bent down. Once he handed Aziraphale the gloves, he rested his chin on the angel’s shoulder and chuckled in his ear. “You could always miracle the book restored,” he singsonged. 

Aziraphale shrugged, mostly to hide the shiver that raced up his spine at feeling the other’s breath ghost across the side of his neck. “And you could always miracle your plants to be healthy instead of threatening them.”

Crowley hummed thoughtfully. Not that it mattered because he wasn’t human, but Aziraphale’s breath failed him when the demon gently nuzzled his nose against the spot where his chin had been. What felt like an eternity really only lasted a few seconds before Crowley suddenly pulled away.

“You’re right,” he said, walking back around to sit beside the flustered angel. “Definitely not as fun.” On that note, he took another swig of wine.

Embarrassedly, Aziraphale was in a daze for a while. He had to look down at the book and gloves to jog his memory. _Right, yes, book inspection. That’s what I was doing._ Before setting back to his task, he took another glance at Crowley who was once again humming to the music.

Despite how chaotic Crowley could be, Aziraphale always admired his ability to stay relatively level-headed. At the same time it frustrated him. The demon seemed to enjoy those little touches while the angel was still startled by them. Aziraphale wasn’t scared of being touched, and he most certainly was not scared of Crowley. However, Crowley’s small gestures always took him by surprise. 

Heaven was not big on such displays. Heaven was not a home to go back to at the end of a long day. Heaven was a workplace where everyone went about their business in states of professional detachment.

Despite that, Aziraphale had a good understanding of verbal affection. Not only because he was an empathic sort of angel, but because it was in his own nature to be kind and polite. He was not naïve, of course, though the other angels thought him gullible. He owned a bookshop for someone’s sake! He knew billions of written words and had their meanings memorized, which is why he took many opportunities to compliment Crowley. There was once a time where Crowley was deeply offended by compliments, horrified of what Hell’s reaction might be. But they were on their own side now, and Crowley might fidget or halfheartedly scoff at the angel’s words, but he was no longer affronted by them.

Aziraphale, however, was still not used to physical affection.

In a movement that looked casual, Aziraphale took off a glove to scratch his shoulder. Although, he wasn’t actually scratching, but stroking the spot where the demon’s chin and nose had been. He thoroughly enjoyed Crowley’s touches, he truly did, but couldn’t bear them at the same time. He also didn’t know what he was supposed to do. Should he use the same gesture on Crowley? Should he hold his hand when they were out in public? When they hugged, where was he supposed to put his hands?

He remembered when he told Crowley that he goes to fast for him. And now that they were romantically involved, that wasn’t the issue. The demon never did anything that would truly scare or alarm him, never did anything to sully his trust. Crowley was patient, considerate, and never seemed to mind going at the angel’s pace.

And that’s what also frustrated Aziraphale. How could Crowley’s patience not have run out by now? Surely he must be irritated to some degree. And yet, he never appeared so, seeming genuinely content to go at his pace.

At some point, Crowley switched the wine glass to his left hand, freeing up his right. His eyes were now closed and his face tilted peacefully towards the ceiling.

Slower than a snail’s pace, Aziraphale allowed his hand to drift across the seat of the sofa. He hesitated when his fingers nearly brushed Crowley’s, and he almost pulled away altogether. However, after mustering bravery, Aziraphale’s eyes snapped shut as he fully wrapped Crowley’s hand in his own. 

They had held hands a couple times already, but it was Crowley who always initiated it. The demon’s cool skin always felt lovely. Aziraphale released the breath he’d been holding with a happy sigh. He almost chuckled. Clearly, touch was easier than he thought and he had most certainly gotten himself worked up over nothing. 

He relaxed.

Aziraphale did not notice Crowley’s widening smile, or when he brought their hands up to his face. However, he did notice when the demon feathered his lips over his knuckles.

With a sharp, startled gasp Aziraphale tore his hand away from Crowley. He jumped so suddenly that the book tumbled off his lap and slammed to the floor. Loose pages had ripped free from their binding and were now scattered at their feet.

Azirphale felt his face burn with embarrassment and self-scolding. Then, his mouth split into a cringe when he heard Crowley mutter, “Bugger”. The angel tried to stutter some form of an apology as he bent forward to pick up the disarrayed book, but no sound came out.

Before he could even gather the pages, the sound of fingers clicking echoed in the shop, and the book jumped back on to Aziraphale’s lap. Everything was intact, as if it had never fallen to the floor.

“I’m…sorry about that,” Crowley said, guiltily scratching the back of his neck.

“Uh,” was Aziraphale’s intelligent answer.

“I’ll be sure to go slower.” Crowley picked up the box of gloves that had also fallen, and set them in between him and the angel.

Aziraphale shook his head in confusion. “Slower?”

Crowley half-shrugged. “Well, obviously I was going too fast. We don’t have to hold hands if you don’t want to.” His eyebrows knitted together as he glanced at Aziraphale’s lap. “Is the book all right? Are all the pages where they should be?”

Aziraphale shook his head slowly, his mind muddled. “No, well, yes…I mean…That’s not…” He exhaled sharply and looked down at the book. After a long moment, he gathered the book and gloves, walked over to the worktable to set them down upon it, and returned to the sofa.

More seconds ticked by before he turned to face confused golden eyes. With a tiny smile, Aziraphale quietly said, “I enjoy when we hold hands.”

Aziraphale’s heart leapt when Crowley’s features brightened, a small smile playing on his lips as well. “That’s a relief. I thought I’d crossed a line.” The demon sighed. “So…what scared you, then?”

The angel’s smile slipped as he shook his head. “You don’t scare me, my dear, you never have. It’s just…” He blew out a puff of air. “Sometimes when you’re being…affectionate…I don’t exactly know how to…react.” He held Crowley’s gaze as he spoke, and the demon didn't look away even once. “My heart starts beating madly, I can’t think of anything else, and suddenly I’ll just want everything to…stop.”

Crowley blinked in understanding. “You’re getting overwhelmed.” The demon’s eyes crinkled worriedly.

“Yes, but,” Aziraphale said quickly before Crowley could turn away. “I’m trying not to be.” Crowley stared at him. “Truly I am. It’s just difficult. You are the only person I’ve ever had this much physical contact with…And it’s an adjustment.”

Crowley flexed his jaw and narrowed his eyes. “When you held my hand just now,” he said. “Did you do that because you wanted to, or because you thought I would like it?”

Aziraphale paused. “Yes and no,” he said slowly. “I wanted to see how well I would do with initiating contact, and because you deserve the same gestures you’ve been giving me.”

Crowley grimaced, shaking his head. “I don’t give a damn about what I deserve-”

“Well, I do,” Aziraphale exclaimed.

“Doesn’t matter,” the demon said with a dismissive hand wave. “What matters is how you’re feeling. That last thing I want is for you rush yourself.”

“I told you, though! I do enjoy the hand-holding. It’s just…I get overwhelmed by other things. And I just wish I could get a handle on it.” He closed his eyes and sagged back against the sofa.

“I’m not asking you to 'get a handle on it’,” he said, almost spitting at that phrase. “We’re going at your pace-”

Aziraphale’s eyes flew open. “And does that not frustrate you? How on Earth can you be so happy to go so slowly?!”

Crowley blinked a few times, suprised by Aziraphale’s outburst. He could hear confusion, exasperation, and care mixed in with every word the angel said. Aziraphale wasn’t upset with Crowley.

He was upset with himself.

“Angel,” Crowley murmured. “It doesn’t frustrate me.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “Don’t lie to me,” he said quietly, turning his attention to the floor. “I understand. I, too, would be upset-”

“Aziraphale, look at me.”

After several reluctant seconds, he finally complied, though not ready to face the annoyance in the demon’s eyes. To his astonishment, he only saw determination. “Now that we’re together,” he said slowly, to ensure the angel heard every word. “Have I ever indicated, even once, that I’ve been anything but happy?” Aziraphale’s mouth opened, then closed, so Crowley continued. “Have I ever gotten upset about something we have or haven’t done?” Once again, Aziraphale didn’t respond.

Crowley reached down to brush his fingers over the back of Aziraphale’s hand. “Is this okay,” he asked, keeping the angel’s eyes locked on his. Aziraphale gave a nod. Carefully, slowly, the demon wrapped his hand entirely around the other’s, interlocking their fingers. “And this?”

Aziraphale’s shoulders relaxed a little. “Yes,” he muttered.

“I’ve known since 1967 that you won’t always go at my pace,” Crowley said, crossing a leg over a knee and reclining back a little. “I’m not going to lie, I didn’t know what to do with that, at first. But with all those restaurant outings we went on, and all those miracles we performed for each other, I got used to going at your pace.” Crowley shrugged. “So long as it’s what you want to do, going slow is not going to be an issue for me.”

Much to Aziraphale’s dismay, Crowley released their hands. “However,” the demon said, tilting his head and giving him a pointed look. “Going at your pace will not work if you don’t tell me what works and what doesn’t. Especially, if you try to rush things.”

Aziraphale winced slightly. “No,” he said with a nod. “You’re absolutely right.” He looked down. Smiling peacefully, he took Crowley’s hand back. “Is it all right if we just do this for now?”

Grinning himself, Crowley used his free hand to pour another glass of wine and hand it to Aziraphale. “Of course, angel.”


End file.
